"Merry Christmas," I said as I swept into the room. My flatmate was lying on the couch, fingertips pressed together as he watched the ceiling.

"If you say so," Sherlock grumbled, "I don't really see the merriment."

"What's wrong now?"

He still didn't move. "Look at the phone."

"Where—really, please tell me it isn't in your coat pocket."

"Where else would it be? Just get it. I'm thinking."

I sighed and shoved his hands aside roughly—screw his thinking process!—and yanked the coat away from his chest, more to find out what the hell had him in such a bad mood than to oblige his wishes. A smirk broke through the mask as I rooted around in his inner pockets angrily.

"Come to Christmas Dinner or I'll pull your access grant to the morgue. MH.

"Well, it appears your brother is not above blackmail. But I guess we knew that already—at least you won't be alone for Christmas."

I tried not to sound too bitter—Harry had asked me to come out with her, but that meant drinking, and being a designated driver on Christmas held no appeal for me.

He sat straight up, grinning. "You're a genius. Figuratively, of course."

"You were doing so well. Am I being the—what was it?—conductor of light again?"

"Precisely. You're not taking your sister up on her offer judging by your left hand, which leaves you free to come with me."

"My left—oh, never mind. I'm not coming with you. It's a family event."

"Oh, I'm sure my siblings will be bringing people."

"Siblings? As in, plural?"

"Yes, yes, of course. My psychology should've made it evident. I have one sister and four brothers."

"What do they do?"

"Two of them are still at uni, and Brinley's unemployed. Rosabel is a criminal psychologist working at a mental health institute for the criminally insane. Then there's Mycroft, who you know all about of course."

"You have five siblings and you never mentioned any of them to me?"

"You never asked."

I punched him.

"Ow! What on earth was that for?"

"Just be lucky I didn't throttle you." I said, before storming off in a huff to research Rosabel and Brinley Holmes.

I stumbled across Rosabel first. She'd been married for a year and a half, now with the surname Stalon, and currently had a daughter named Winifred. Brinley was a nonentity—all I found was a birth announcement in some newspaper from thirty years previously saying that Emery and Marybeth Holmes had had a son named Brinley Winston Holmes. There were also Stratton and Amesbury Holmes's birth announcements.

I went back further in the newspaper until I got to the wedding announcement. Marybeth Rosecroft was his mother's maiden name, an heiress to some wealthy family.

Just how rich are the Holmes'? Emery Holmes was a businessman already rolling in self-earned money before he married a girl with more inherited wealth than some aristocrats.

I found the net worth sum and stared at it. No wonder the five digit incentive offered by Sebastian had been a trifle to Sherlock. No wonder he could afford to replace the wall every month or so. No wonder he wasn't fazed by royalty. He could probably buy Buckingham palace, for God's sake.

"I presume the look of shock is based upon finding out just how much many the Holmes family has to its name. Don't worry, only Brinley and Stratton will rub it in your face and Mycroft will keep them civil. He controls the accounts."

"What about your mother?"

"Mummy was deemed mentally unfit when I was twelve."

"I—I'm sorry. That must've been hard."

"Why would it have been hard? She was unfit, it was for the best."

I got the impression that this was another one of Mycroft's little mantras. I could hear it in his voice whenever he quoted his brother, the bitterness of a child's broken heart.

"If you want to talk about it…"

"It was ages ago, I barely remember it."

"Did you delete it?"

"Yes," He said stiffly, before walking away.

I sighed and pulled out my phone to tell Harry my new alibi for Christmas.

Can't go out with you. Sherlock's dragging me to the family Christmas dinner. –John

Meeting the family! How cute. When can we expect the wedding invites?

I groaned. If my sister was going to take it that way, there was no telling how the Yarders would react. Actually, I knew exactly how they'd react…